Smile
by claus-lamb
Summary: A small girl, terrified in her bedroom. A salvage ship in the year 2230. And a clown, waiting in the cupboard. The Doctor and Clara are out of their depth...
1. Prologue

**Hey guys!**

 **Just a few words about this project and myself! My name's George Lamb! I'm a lifelong who-fan! This story is gonna be told through a series of chapters each week! It takes place between In the Forest of the Night and Dark Water!**

 **Anyhow this is the prologue! Hope you all like it!**

Prologue

Kate slipped the bedclothes over her head. She didn't have to look to know that the Monster was leering out of the cupboard door, staring across the darkened bedroom at her hunkered shape. She knew it wouldn't hurt her, but it always understood how to pull at her fear, like a large horse tugging a great carriage. Sometimes the Monster would just stand in the door frame, fixing on her with it's small, crimson eyes. Sometimes, it would melt into the carpet and slither along the floor to her bedside where it would tilt over her and grin a sickening grin.

She'd told her Mummy about the Monster, of course but all she had done was take her to Dr. Ramsden and Kate didn't like Dr. Ramsden at all. She was a small, meticulous woman with a sharp face spreading to large, bushy eyebrows. She was always asking Kate about her father and the things she was afraid of. Kate never wanted to talk about Dad. When she did, she felt sad and thought about Mum pouring herself a glass of wine.

When her sessions with Dr. Ramsden didn't work out, Mum resorted to buying a night light and spreading salt in a messy circle around Kate's bed.

"Nothing can get past salt," she had said one night, perched at Kate's bedside, "No ghosts, or spirits or monsters. And you don't need to worry anyway. You know why?"

Kate nodded, and recited, reluctantly, "Because they don't exist." She didn't believe this herself, but it was something Mum had made her say.

Yet here she was. Once again cowering away from the Monster's small, red eyes.

There was no use in crying out. Kate knew her squeaky little voice had been stolen, like she were journeying through the darker waves of some terrible nightmare. It was how he managed to get away with it.

The cupboard was an antique, passed down from her Nana (although as far as Kate knew, Nana didn't have the same problem). Nana had died two years ago, when Kate was six, and having remembered how often Kate had played in the cupboard, pretending it was her house, or her secret hiding place, had left the antique to Kate in her will. She remembered being so excited the first night the large, rickety cupboard had been moved into her room.

But that was when the Monster first appeared.

It never spoke. Just growled and licked its lips with its long, thin tongue. It never touched her, either. The Monster would sometimes get close and press its face into hers, but it never wanted anything more than to terrify her.

And the best way to do that was to smile.

That was the worst. It was why Kate was burrowed so deep in her bedclothes. Her body felt heavy, and she knew that if she even tried, she wouldn't be able to move fast enough to break for the door. Instead, she would keep her eyes squeezed tightly shut, keep her hands clamped over her ears and wait for the Monster to go away.

And she would try not to think about the pointy, sharp yellow teeth concealed behind its lips like a small shark trying to break free.

This night, however, things would be different.

The Monster slipped quietly into the carpet and reanimated itself next to Kate's bed. It seemed to grow as it bore over her. Kate whimpered as she listened to the low, un-Earthly growl. She felt the covers being slowly pulled away. She tried to reach up a hand, but an invisible weight pulled her down. She risked a look at the Monster. His large, multicoloured body-suit somehow unnerved her in the darkness, and the large, clown-face broke into a sickening grin. It's thick green hair wrapped around the side of its head, culminating in one large point on the top. It stomped a ridiculous over-sized shoe onto the side of the bed and let it's tongue slip out from between the jagged teeth.

Kate wanted to scream. She wanted to shut her eyes, bury her head into the bed and roar as loud as she could, but instead, she was fixated on the surreal face, watching it seem to twist and contort at will.

Then, the bedroom door burst open, letting in a warm glow of light from the upstairs hall. A tall, stick-thin figure with large, bushy gray hair let his great shadow bathe the Monster. A large object that appeared to Kate much like a wand, was pointed at the Monster, wrapped in the man's long, bony fingers. A weighty, black coat hung off the man's frail outline, spewing out swathes of a majestic red underneath.

"Excuse me!" his grand, booming voice broke through the silence. The Monster returned its large foot to the floor and shifted all its attention in the tall man's direction.

Kate couldn't explain it, but in that moment, she found her strength. She felt safer and stronger. The man looked tired and frail. Form what little light bounced off his face, she saw streaks of dirt and mud. But still he seemed powerful.

He took a careful step into the room keeping the large wand fixed on the Monster and said, "You seem to be scarring my friend."

* * *

The book flew through the air, ricocheted off the metal rail and settled uncomfortably on the hard floor.

Clara Oswald watched this from the safety of the open doorway. She wasn't sure if the Doctor had even heard her enter; he was muttering to himself as he jittered from left to right, scanning through the large bookcase at the back of the console room. He growled and sighed, shoving books aside, hunting through the shelves.

In a bid to announce her presence, Clara slammed the door shut. The sound echoed through the vast chamber but did nothing to grab the Doctor's attention.

"What you looking for?" she called.

Keeping his attention on the bookcase, he said, "I can't find it."

"Yep. Gathered that, thanks," Clara stuffed her hands in her coat pockets and strolled to the console.

"Fun trip," she called out, "That's what I was told, anyway. Big fun trip to Ancient Greece."

The Doctor flicked through a large, dusty volume, "What?"

"Nothing."

Suddenly, the Doctor's eyes seemed to grow. His brow eased and something close to a smile crept across his lips. In a flash he darted down the stairs and dumped the large book on the console, sending up a large cloud of dust, like wasps escaping their nest. The Doctor began manipulating switches on the console. He snatched at the scanner, pulling it round, revealing a series of, to Clara, indecipherable readings that danced and scrolled across the screen.

Clara coughed and waved the dust aside, "Important, is it?"

"I don't understand it!" the Doctor cried.

"You're not the only one," Clara muttered.

"No!" the Doctor slapped his hand across the screen, " _This_! It makes no sense!"

"What's up?"

The Doctor looked at her with the face that Clara knew all too well. It was a face that was thinking, trying to figure a convincing lie.

"Is that a new dress?" he asked.

Clara smirked and said, "We're not going to Ancient Greece, are we?"

With a loud, dusty bang, the Doctor pulled the large book cover closed, "I've already been."

Clara felt the blood rushing through her face, "What?!"

"I forgot!" before she could argue, the Doctor had set to work at the console and the wheezing and groaning of the ancient, tired engines filled the console room.

"How did you forget? You promised!"

"Have you looked at the book?" the Doctor had moved to the other side of the console.

Clara glanced at the cover: it was leather-bound, with thick circles imprinted across the brown surface.

"Yeah? Bunch of circles. What am I looking for?"

"There's a signal I've been tracking," the Doctor appeared over Clara's shoulder.

"A distress signal?" she asked.

The Doctor shook his head, "I don't know. Been trying to figure out it's point of origin. It's scrambled across the Time Vortex."

Clara shook her head, "Come again?"

"One signal. Stretching back over three decades in the 22nd century."

"No, I mean why can't you find it's point of origin?"

"I'm sure that's a new dress," the Doctor set back off round the console.

"Stop being nice to me," said Clara.

"Why?" asked the Doctor.

"It doesn't suit you," she smiled, "It's not new, anyway. I bought it a while back."

"P.E's a lucky man."

Clara waved her hand, "Point of origin?"

The Doctor lowered his head, focused himself on some fiddly switches, "How is old P.E, these days?"

Clara smiled and folded her arms, "You can't find it, can you?"

"Can't find what?"

"Oh, please," Clara laughed, placed her hand on the book, "I know what this is. It's the manual, right? TARDIS Manual?" Clara waited for a response, "I'm right, aren't I? Say I'm right."

"I thought I'd tossed it away years back," the Doctor snatched the book from under her hand.

"You think she's broken?"

The Doctor's eyebrows raised, revealing the large eyes beneath, piercing through her like a blast of energy, "Don't be so stupid! 'Course she's not broken!" the Doctor patted the console, "Don't listen to her!"

"Can't she trace the signal?"

The Doctor closed his eyes and pinched the tip of his nose, "It never occurred to me. Of course she can trace the signal! It's what she's been doing! But she's tracked the point of origin to different time zones! It's scrambled!"

The Doctor found his way to Clara's shoulder, "Someone's in trouble. I can't help them."

She knew it cut him deeply. It was in his very nature to help anyone he could, even if he didn't want to admit it to himself.

Clara turned to the Doctor. She placed a hand on his cheek, smiling at his now confused expression, "You're adorable when you're angry."

Then, the TARDIS door opened.

The Doctor and Clara froze, both eyes fixed on each others. Neither dared to look.

Clara whispered, "Are we in flight?"

"Yes," the Doctor quietly replied.

The door slammed shut. A cold breeze flickered through the console room.. Clara slowly peered over her shoulder, the Doctor glanced to the door.

Then, his brow knitted together. Clara felt her voice leave her.

There was a clown stood in the doorway. He was holding a red balloon in his hand.


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

Captain Kate Whittaker was tired. The nightmares had returned as The Doctor said they would. She'd marked the date in her calendar all those years ago, making sure to transfer it to each new diary as it drew nearer. She remembered what the Doctor had told her, "It's gone for now. But it will come back."

That was the night everything changed. The old man who finally came to save her from the Monster. The Monster who would soon be coming back.

The main flight deck was a miserable, rusty space, like an old, neglected warehouse, somehow managing to cling together despite the low groans of protest from the hull. The far wall was dominated by a large window, presenting nothing but space beyond. The large control panels were being held together by sticky tape by this point, and Kate was putting aside what little money they had to purchase replacement switches when they stopped off at their nearest hardware station.

"Captain?"

The voice broke Kate away from her daydream, like a snooze alarm. It was Deano, sat at his control station. He smiled his young, cheeky smile and tilted his head, "Still with us?"

"Barely," the Captain replied. She liked Deano, the 19 year-old she picked up on Stelgaard 3. He'd been promised to join his father over at the sickening, cavernous mines, which Stelgaard 3 was infamous for, but Deano had other ideas. He'd always wanted to see the stars. A subordinate on a scrap ship was maybe not what he had in mind, but still, he'd visited a total of five planets and three moons in the last 8 months.

"Is she there?" Kate asked.

A loud, fed-up voice blared out over the speakers, "Yeah! Yeah! Gimme a sec!"

Deano flicked a switched and a large monitor blinked into life.

"I wouldn't get too excited," said the crouched figure on the screen. It was Sara, the maintenance technician, on her knees in the darkened utility room, fiddling at the wires behind a large, metal contraption.

"I don't know what you put in here, Deano, but it certainly did the trick."

"It wasn't me!" Deano objected, "Was probably Mulloch. You don't know what those Silurians do when they wash. Do Silurians wash their clothes?

Another voice fed in through the intercom, "Yes! We do, actually."

"Keep the comm. clear, thank you," Kate ordered.

"Sorry," the voice replied.

"Could've been me' keys," Deano said.

"Whatever it was," Kate interjected, "Can you get it back online?"

"It's a bloody washing machine. Stop talking about it so...I dunno! I'll try! I need a break."

Kate exhaled deeply. She hated whining. Sometimes she worried that her crew had grown too close.

"Go on. Get yourself a cup of tea or something," she said.

"Get us one, n'all!" Deano called out.

Sara moved out of the screen, "Dream on."

"I was gonna do my load tonight," Kate muttered.

"Doesn't matter," Deano flickered the screen off, "We can hand wash."

" _You_ can hand wash. I'm gonna pull rank on that one."

"Ma'am!" Mulloch's voice spoke over the speaker, "You might want to see this."

"What?"

"Get the cargo hold on the screen."

Deano manipulated the switches at his console and the dull, metal room appeared on the screen.

"Only just noticed it, myself," Mulloch continued.

Kate didn't know what to do. She had been expecting this.

There was a blue police box sat snugly in the far corner.

* * *

The clown had disappeared just as soon as it had arrived.

The Doctor found himself rolling sluggishly on the floor, reaching for the console to pull himself up. His eyes fixed on the empty doorway as he tried to decide whether what he had just seen was real or not.

"Did you see...?" his question trailed off as he saw Clara strewn across the floor. He was immediately at her side, lifting up her head and gently opening her eyes with his thumbs. She was coming round, muttering under her breath.

"...I don't know...Danny..."

"Clara," the Doctor whispered, "It's all right, Clara. He's gone."

Clara squinted as the light hit her eyes. She lifted her head, "Doctor?" The look in his eyes worried her.

"Did you see it?" he whispered.

She didn't reply straight away. She didn't comprehend the question.

Then, she remembered.

The large, terrible clown.

"Big shoes?" she asked.

"Very!" snarled the Doctor. He set to work at the console as Clara picked herself up, "Very, very, _very_ big shoes."

"And a balloon."

"But the _shoes_ , Clara!"

"Where did he come from?"

"No," said the Doctor. He stopped and fixed his eyes on her.

Clara waited for his explanation, "Okay, usually you have a big smug speech to follow, whenever I don't understand what you're talking about."

"You know what I'm talking about."

"I really don't."

" _How_? That's the question, Clara. _How_ did it get in?!"

Clara's head tilted. Her eyes widened, suddenly understanding, "Oh."

The Doctor waved a hand to the doorway, "Those doors are deadlocked! Super deadlocked! Super, triple, impossibly deadlocked!"

"He had a crowbar?"

The Doctor scoffed, "I've seen a tank dent it's gun barrel on that door, and there wasn't even a scratch!"

"A tank?"

"It was cross that day."

"Aren't you always cross?"

The Doctor made for the doorway, "But the _shoes_ , Clara! How did he travel so far? How did he get inside?" He yanked the door open and the deep, blackness of space filtered in, "Look at it! Nothing!"

"Didn't we dream it?"

"What makes you say that?"

Clara felt her forehead lift, "We did just wake up on the floor."

"So you're saying we both just fell asleep? We both fell asleep and dreamt the same dream?" the Doctor slowly closed the door, "What makes you so sure this isn't the dream? Whatever that thing was, it could be casting it's spell on us right now, and we wouldn't know." A sparkle of inspiration rush through the Doctor's mind. He set to work at the console, "Psychic pollen. That's what did it. I've been here before. Oh, Amelia Pond. We had some times."

"Psychic pollen? You're definitely not grasping at straws."

The Doctor wheeled the scanner round and felt his hearts sink. He slapped the screen lightly, once.

"I'm gonna take that as a no."

"I put in a safety protocol after last time. The TARDIS detects the pollen and our bodies get filled with adrenaline. Wakes us up."

"So we're awake now?"

"And we were asleep before."

"You said the TARDIS was telepathic. Is it too much to imagine a shared dream?"

A quiet, beeping sound came from the console. A series of lines danced across the screen.

"The signal's shifted," said the Doctor, "It's scattered more."

"So what do we do?"

The Doctor pulled on a lever and the old engines moaned into life.

"We're following it."

"But you said - "

"It has to end somewhere. The furthest point in the future it reaches. The end of the road. Whatever we find, we find!"

"And if it's too late? If whoever sent the signal is...you know."

"Then we know we couldn't save them."

Clara didn't reply. She knew when to stop asking questions. Instead, she stood back and watched the Doctor move carefully around the console.

* * *

"You won't be needing that."

Mulloch lowered his tazer at Kate's command.

"I like to think I'm not over-reacting, ma'am."

"It's fine," Kate typed in a code and the large, cargo hold door slid lazily open.

Mulloch felt a ripple of tension through his scales. Kate seemed to freeze in the doorway, fixated on that strange, blue box. He kept the small taser at his side. Whoever was inside the capsule was an intruder after all.

"How do you feel about clowns, Mulloch?" Captain Whittaker didn't seem to look away from the box.

"I'm sorry?"

"Clowns. Do they scare you?"

"Is this the time?"

"Answer the question."

"No," Mulloch sighed, "The Human custom is bizarre, it must be said, but you won't find many Silurians scared of clowns."

"Good to know," Kate stepped through into the cargo hold.

Mulloch followed closely behind and the pair moved quietly towards the capsule.

The small blue door creaked open. Voices fed out from inside.

"Clara, give it to me!"

"I haven't got it! You put it in your pocket!"

"What?"

"Your pocket!"

"Oh," a small beam of torch light spilled out of the door.

"Ma'am?" Mulloch whispered.

A tall, skinny man slipped out of the box, followed by a young, wide-eyed lady.

The man stopped as he caught sight of Kate. He turned the torchlight on her.

"Ah, yes," he said, "Hello. You look important."

"Doctor," she said, "Nice box."

"Yes. Okay," he said, throwing a bemused look to the girl.

"You're waiting for the Clown, yeah?"

"How did you know that?" the lady asked.

"Wrong question," said the Doctor.

"Oh?" Kate raised an eyebrow, "Then what is the question?"

"Who the hell are you?" asked the Doctor.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

James King was writing a poem.

It seemed like a good idea two hours ago when he slumped out of bed, tired-eyed and heavy; but now he was desperately scouring through a thesaurus for words that rhyme with quiver.

James would not usually be found writing a poem, of course, but Deano's birthday was coming up and he wanted to do something funny (and maybe even romantic).

They'd been together for five months, and while it didn't seem a long time, James had found himself falling for the silly idiot from Stelgaard 3. Sure, he was a tad young, Deano being 19 and James being 23, but he was willing to overlook this just for the fun they had together. There were bigger gaps with couples he knew, and if it weren't for the fact that James always preferred men to be older, there'd be no issue at all.

He remembered the day Captain Whittaker picked up Deano.

"I'm sorry, why exactly are we bringing a complete stranger on board? You'll understand if it seems the very definition of a security risk," he asked.

"Because he made me laugh," Kate said, "And using the word 'security' on a scrap ship is an absurdity all to itself."

He knew there had been an understanding between Deano and Kate. Something important that had meant Kate bringing him along on their travels. All this time later, James still didn't know why.

They spent the first two weeks avoiding eye contact, sharing awkward, shifty encounters in the corridors and mumbling quiet, "Hellos" to each other.

Then, one long, wild Saturday night, Kate had picked up alcohol from the markets on Buvaltic, and in the canteen, James and Deano shared their first, intoxicated conversation.

"D'you know something," James said, stumbling across the room, eyes drooping, speech slurred, "I don't think I know your name."

He remembered Deano laughing. Everything else was hazy, but he knew they had talked long into the night, when everyone else was asleep.

"Can I ask you something?" Deano said, sheepishly. They were both sat on the floor, their backs against an upturned table.

"What?" James rested his head against Deano's shoulder.

"When was the last time you kissed a boy?"

James counted the 14 long months in silence.

"It must've been just over a year ago."

"Really?"

"Yeah!"

"Human?"

"No," James shook his head, "Draconian."

Deano's brow lifted, "How was it?"

"Rough tongue," James considered.

"Ew," Deano wrinkled his nose.

James laughed, "It wasn't the worse I've ever had."

"I don't think I want to know your worst."

"How about you?"

"What?"

"When was the last time you kissed a boy?"

"Three weeks ago," there was a long pause. Then, he said, "I'm guessing when we stop off at the docks, there isn't a lot of time for, you know, _that_ stuff."

"Or maybe I'm just not persistent."

"Or confident?"

James scoffed, "What?"

Deano smiled, and surprised James with what should have been a soft, delicate kiss, but instead, turned into a humble disaster as James leaned back and banged his head against the table.

Deano immediately drew away, "Oh my God, are you all right? I'm so sorry!"

"That's okay," James rubbed the back of his head, "Just took me by surprise. Maybe a bit more warning next time."

Deano smiled, and whilst James didn't remember much else about that night, he remembered the passionate time the pair spent simply kissing.

They both woke in the canteen that morning and didn't speak much the next day. The scornful looks Kate kept flashing, however, told James that they were in trouble.

Weeks went by and she didn't say anything. Deano and James had organised meetings in their free time, in their private cabins. It wasn't until the end of the first month that James was finally confronted by his Captain.

"You know what I think," she said, stepping through into his room that night, "Relationships get tricky in small crews. Believe me, I've been there before."

"It's not a relationship," James said.

"Whatever it is, it's been a while now. We've got a good thing going on this ship. We're all mates," Kate sat beside him on his small, uncomfortable bunk, "I hate to be the one who's saying all this. I just don't want you to compromise anything."

James shifted awkwardly on the bed, "Do the others know?"

Kate smiled warmly. She slipped a gentle arm around his shoulders and pulled him close, "They knew before you did."

And now, five months later, it was the Angela Whittaker's worst kept secret. Five months of happiness with Deano and it had all led to this:

Writing a poem.

James hadn't even read a poem since his final year of school.

"What'cha doing?" Sara trotted down the few steps from the door into the large room, tugging James out of his train of thought.

"Nothing much," he snapped the card shut, "Just writing out Deano's birthday card."

"You actually got him a _card_?!" Sara slipped into the chair opposite, "Send him an e-card!"

James blushed, "I just thought it might be more - "

"Romantic?" she smiled.

"Special! It's nice to have something - "

"Physical?"

"Shut up!"

Sara laughed, "Come on, let's see."

James slid the card out of her reach, "Or not."

"Please!"

"No!"

Then, with a wheighty clunk, the lights shut off.

"Looks like you're on call," James said.

Sara flicked on her comm. unit, "Ma'am?" A brief crackle filtered through the speaker, "Ma'am, are you there?"

Then, the door opened.

* * *

"There seems to be something wrong with your lights," the Doctor waved his torch up to the rusty ceiling, "And I don't have much to say for the hull's integrity."

"She's an old ship," Kate agreed.

"Should we lock them up, Ma'am?" Mulloch asked.

Kate wrinkled her nose, "Lock them up where, exactly?"

"I don't know," Mulloch shrugged, "Just a thought."

Kate tapped her intercom, "Sara, the lights are gone in the hold. Add it to the list, yeah?"

"I was going to wait for you to ask what we're doing here but it seems you already know," said the Doctor.

Kate clicked on the intercom again, "Sara?"

The Doctor moved to torchlight to Clara, "Is nobody listening to me?"

"For once you've been over-ruled by casual maintenance," she said.

"Everyone should listen to me. I'm the cleverest one in the room."

Kate fiddled with the talk-back button, "Sara, can you hear me -"

"Oh come on!" the Doctor cried, "Let's not decrease your brain cells anymore - she's not answering! Your lights are out. Your equipment is ancient and you have intruders."

Kate raised an eyebrow, "I have intruders?"

"You know who I am."

"We're going to the Bridge," Kate turned on her heels.

"I'm not going anywhere," the Doctor barked, "until you tell me who you are."

Kate froze, then spun to face the Doctor, "Captain Kate Whittaker. You are intruders on my ship and I'm taking you to the Bridge."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Think yourself lucky. Mulloch wanted to lock you up."

The Doctor took a heavy, intimidating step towards Kate. Clara peered over his shoulder, surprised to see the Captain unmoved by his stance.

"Who are you?" he asked, sternly.

Kate smiled, "I was told not to say anything."

The Doctor sighed, then asked a question he already knew the answer to, "And who told you that?"

Kate began to laugh, "You did."

* * *

James had fished out a large lamp from the supply cupboard and set it up on the canteen table. A beam of torchlight through the open door, however, threw him off.

"That you, James?" Captain Whittaker called.

"Yeah?" James replied.

Kate stepped through the large door, followed by two strangers. One was a tall, elderly, bony man with a fierce brow. The other, a shorter, pleasant young lady. Mulloch flanked behind, like a bodyguard escorting prisoners.

James rose slowly to his feet, "Who are they?"

Kate ignored him, "Where's Sara? You seen her?"

"She went to find you."

"Sara?" Kate flicked on her intercom again, "Sara, for God's sake if you've got me on mute again..."

"Right, well, you look vaguely intelligent," the older man strode towards James, "I think you'll agree that it's safe to assume your Sara's friend's in mortal peril."

"Excuse me?!" James spat.

"Well I'm only here to help, but apparently the Captain knows best - "

"That's generally assumed, yeah," James said.

The Doctor paused, then turned on his heels, "Captain Whittaker, you have a problem."

"I know," Kate's voice called back through the darkness.

The Doctor snatched up James's lamp and moved to her, "You're someone from my future. You can't tell me what's happening. You may or may not know what is about to happen, and if you did, and you told me, you might cause a fissure big enough to tear the space time continuum apart, yes? So I'm going to choose my next question very carefully."

"He likes the be dramatic," said Clara.

Kate raised an eyebrow, waiting for the Doctor's question.

"What can you tell me about clowns?" he asked.

"Not much," she replied, "Only that I think there's one on my ship."

"Which doesn't seem to surprise you?"

"Why would it?" Kate said plainly, "It's been following me all my life."


End file.
